


Totally Confined Miniature Worlds or Something

by dapatty



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:23:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the band divided, Jon always knew that Brendon was better at gestures, especially if those involved snow globes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onceuponamoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/gifts).



> beta'd by s0ckpupp3t. Thanks bb! Darling onceuponamoon, only you would inspire me to write fic involving snowglobes. Thanks again for the one with the buffalo. :D

The first snow globe Jon ever bought was a joke. He didn't even know who the joke was on. It was on the first tour when he first got in the band and they were in God-knows-where, Iowa at some sort of truck stop at three in the morning. Spencer and Ryan were staring at the coffee as if in some deep, philosophical debate on the very merits of it while speaking only in eyebrow.

Jon was staring at this single, solitary snow globe, eye level on this shelf with other Iowa related riff-raff. The scene locked inside the plastic was a cornfield with a cheerful cloudless blue sky declaring the scene IOWA surrounded by little dots of white snow bits that he was pretty sure were some sort of Styrofoam.

"That still weirds me out a little." Brendon admitted, tucking his chin over Jon's shoulder.

"What?" Jon asked, frowning at the little sheen of dust on top of the little plastic orb.

"That snow globe. It's a little too scenic." Brendon snarked.

Jon frowned at Brendon.

"No, what weirds me out is those two and their psychic-mind-meld conversation thing." Brendon said, tilting his head and causing his chin to dig into Jon's shoulder while he made his fingers waggle in some sort of gesture of explanation.

"It's not too scenic," Jon countered. "That's Iowa. There's a lot scenic about it. And that’s just them being them."

"Noble of you to defend a state because of a lonely snow globe." Brendon said, bit of a smile tucked into the corner of his eyes.

"Shuddup!" Jon grumbled, feeling a little like Brendon might be making fun of him a bit, reaching for the plastic globe. "I'm buying it."

"Because some souvenirs should not just be left alone?" Brendon asked, wryly, but he looked thoughtful and oddly serious. Not that Brendon couldn't be serious, just the opposite in fact, but the kid spent a lot of time being loud and spazzy and, at times, almost obnoxious. So, it was easy to miss that Brendon was more than noise.

"Maybe." Jon allowed tucking the globe into the crook of his arm and grabbing a bag of chips and going in search of a drinkable ginger ale.

Brendon nodded and gave Jon a smile, and then demanded Twizzlers.

So, Jon shouldn't really have been surprised when the first thing he got from Brendon after six months of radio silence post-split was a box. When he opened it, there were just two things inside. The first was a postcard with oranges on the back from 'Orange County' California with Brendon's hasty cursive on the back that simply said, "Thought that your corn globe could use the company." The other object was a snow globe with a grove of orange trees inside, with the bright California sun overhead and sparkly glitter for snow.

Jon smiled and picked up his cell phone, considering.

******

 

_The second snow globe Jon bought, well, Jon didn't actually buy it. The sun was high in the early afternoon and it was hotter than the hinges and Jon had finally decided between this strange guava-based juice or plain water (he'd settled on the juice option, but had decided to ultimately trade for Ryan's mango-they were at the strangest truck stop ever, officially--it might actually be part fruit stand) and he only knew they were in South Dakota because that's what the snow globe said, perched on the shelf between a very large, obnoxious headdress made out of the brightest yellow feathers Jon had ever seen, and a candelabra. The snow globe had Mount Rushmore inside it._

_“George Washington has kind of a big nose,” Brendon observed. He was holding a bunch of bananas with a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos perched on top and a bottle of red Gatorade tucked into the nook of his arm._

_“A little bit,” Jon agreed, then jerked his chin toward Ryan. “How serious is he about that cowboy hat?”_

_Ryan had a white Stetson perched at a jaunty angle and was staring at himself very seriously in a tiny little mirror attached to the hat rack._

_“Probably not serious enough to actually buy it,” Spencer answered, his ridiculous aviators tucking his hair back on the top of his head. He was holding a very sensible iced tea, pretzels and an apple._

_“You’re totally thinking about buying that snow globe, though,” Brendon was smiling at him. The smile was knowing, quiet._

_“Shuddup,” Jon said, snagging the snow globe and decided to look for oranges. Brendon nabbed the globe from the crook of Jon’s arm through some pretty impressive juggling._

_“_ You _are not going to be the one to rescue this snow globe, man.” Brendon said pointedly, dashing off for the checkout._

“But.” Jon struggled to form words. He wasn’t sure why he was protesting, why he even cared about a snow globe in the first place, why it was suddenly a snow globe rescue mission.

Brendon just blew a raspberry at him in line and Jon felt himself smiling despite himself.

****

*********

Jon ended up not calling right away, his thumb hovering over the call button for the longest moment. He just couldn’t swallow down his nerves. Jon wasn’t stupid. He could recognize a peace treaty, especially when it came in a box with a note involving a friend for that first snow globe, but there was still that bit of uncertainty lingering around the edges. And Jon might just be a little upset with himself for not thinking of it first. But he’d been busy, busy with Ryan getting a tour together and rehearsing. He should have made time for a restart, but, well, he didn’t. Or he hadn’t got a chance to yet.

The snow globe still sat beside the box it came in with the postcard on his coffee table when Ryan dropped by, wearing a hat that Jon didn’t even know the name for. Or maybe Jon was distracted by the vest. He honestly couldn’t say for sure.

“Dude, you are such a hipster.” Jon said, smiling. Because Ryan totally was.

“You’re just jealous of my vest.” Ryan made his way to the kitchen and helped himself to some coffee.

“A fool would be jealous of that vest.” Jon countered. “Hey bring me a refill.”

Ryan brought the French Press in, topped off Jon’s mug and set it beside the box on the coffee table, giving the box a thoughtful look. Ryan said, “I would like you to note, for the record, that I did not say anything condescending about your footwear, hippie.”

“How lofty of you,” Jon couldn’t help smirking. He took a sip of coffee and tried very hard not to draw any further attention to the box.

“So, Spencer called me to remind me how we’re all idiots.” Ryan offered after a few minutes of companionable silence.

“Brendon sent me a snow globe,” Jon returned. He almost felt silly saying it aloud.

“Brendon really has always been better at making gestures than actually saying things even though he can talk your ear off.” Ryan’s face was caught between a small smile and a tight frown.

“He didn’t send you a wacky scarf of anything?” Jon asked, careful, tentative.

Ryan did smile then, but it was tinged with a dash of bitterness. “No, but well.” Ryan shrugged, took another sip of coffee, sighed. “We both have our pride.”

“Or maybe he’s waiting for you to call,” Jon suggested.

“No, I’m pretty sure he’s waiting on you,” Ryan said, wryly. Jon reached out and gave Ryan’s shoulder a squeeze, finishing the last of his coffee.

“C’mon, let’s go rehearse,” Jon got up and pulled Ryan up with him. “They’re probably waiting on us.”

“They could wait longer if you wanted,” Ryan hinted.

“It’ll keep a few more hours,” Jon said and his smile was easier this time. It would. It’d been six months. A few more hours longer wouldn’t actually hurt.

****

*********

The third snow globe had been months after the second. Jon had tucked the other two in the corner of his bunk and had forgotten about them. Jon had even forgotten about snow globes as a souvenir thing. But they were in Arizona, and it was early and bright, and Jon squinted at the light when he stumbled off the bus, staring at whatever truckstop they were at. Phoenix was just ahead further up the interstate, blurry like a mirage. Or at least Jon thought it looked blurry like a mirage. He might still be high.

Jon wandered into the station with his hand on his forehead, trying to ease the strain on his eyes. He ended up stopping short in the door as his eyes adjusted. He blinked, a lot, because he would swear that half the truck stop was filled with snow globes of all different sizes, shapes, and configurations.

Brendon walked into Jon’s back, face pressing between Jon’s shoulder blades and gave a little whimper.

“Tell me it isn’t bright in the store too,” Brendon mumbled.

“It’s not,” Jon answered. “I don’t think. Wait, did you wander over with your eyes closed?”

“Maybe. Maybe a little bit,” Brendon admitted, tucking his chin over Jon’s shoulder.

“Dude, is it just me, or is this like snow globe heaven, or where all the roadside souvenirs go to die?”

“I was just thinking that, but figured I was still completely stoned,” Jon answered.

“We’re both totally stoned,” Brendon said and pulling Jon further into the store. “So we’re only gonna look at the plastic ones, and we’re gonna do that _very_ carefully.”

“Since when are you so practical?” Jon asked following along as Brendon stopped in front of the most kitschy display of plastic globes, with a lot of glitter and white dots in the bottom, covering red dirt, and clinging to the cardboard cutout green cactus inside.

“Since Spence told me not to play with things that break when I’m this stoned,” Brendon answered. “He gave me a talk and that stern face. You know? The one with the lifted eyebrow that he does.”

“What did you break of his?” Jon gave Brendon a sidelong look through his half-closed eyelids. He might need some coffee, or maybe to sleep for four more hours. Or maybe bagels, if this truck stop had bagels. He could totally smell bagels. Maybe. Or maybe Brendon smelled like bagels.

“It was an accident,” Brendon protested. “Wait. Do you smell bagels?” Brendon perked his head up and tilted it.

“Yes. I totally smell bagels,” Jon agreed, fervently.

“You should get the one with the cactus in it,” Brendon said sagely, and then wandered off toward the little bakery/deli tucked into the corner of the store.

“But they all have cactuses. Or cacti, or whatever the plural of cactus is,” Jon protested.

Brendon wandered back, nearly careening into a very tall, very large, and very expensive-looking shelf that had both snow globes and strange little glass figurines. _Menagerie._ Jon’s brain supplied and he blinked. Brendon stopped and stood beside Jon, their hips touching and he tilted his head and scratched his chin, considering.

“Brendon?” Jon started to ask.

“Shhhh.” Brendon put a hand on Jon’s mouth. “I’m listening.”

Jon licked Brendon’s palm. Brendon turned his head and frowned at Jon, deeply and said, “Ew. Gross,” then promptly wiped his hand on Jon’s shirt, turning his attention back to the globes.

“Are you waiting for a snow globe to tell you that it wants to come home with me?” Jon asked, incredulous. But really, weirder things had happened. To him even, in the last six months.

“Yes,” Brendon said simply.

Jon nodded. Accepting, not trying to process the information, and feeling just a little charmed by the whole thing.

“Aha!” Brendon beamed and plucked up a snow globe from an upper shelf that was medium sized and contained three separate cactuses and “Arizona” written on the sunset background. “This is the one.”

Brendon plopped it into Jon’s hand. It felt warm. Or maybe that was a feeling in his chest. He wasn’t sure. He smiled at Brendon and Brendon smiled back, looking very pleased with himself.

“Now! bagels!” Brendon declared, and promptly dragged Jon towards the bakery.

****

*********

 

When Jon called, Brendon picked up on the third ring, sounding breathless.

"Hi!" Brendon sounded bright with just a little hesitation, almost making the greeting a question.

"So, the new Killers album," Jon said, giving Brendon an opening, just glazing over months of silence, casual, like they'd only just talked earlier.

Brendon took the olive branch and ran with it. Soon enough they'd ended up in a very animated discussion about 80s music--none of which has ever been Jon's favored cup of tea. (Being a child of the 80s doesn't automatically give one complete and total love for the genre--despite how much Spencer agreed with Brendon on that and well, Spencer'd always been good about having Brendon's back, but Brendon was like that, inspiring loyalty. Jon couldn’t even be bitter about that, because he's loyal, too.) Brendon wound down somewhere around talking about Bono's hair from the Joshua tree era _”I don't think I could pull off a mullet. I'm just not the kind of boy that could, you know, Jon?”_ when Brendon launched into this over-the-moon gushing about the new Arcade Fire album.

"I know right?" Jon agreed, wholeheartedly. "It's like a masterpiece. Totally. Like it almost makes me angry with..." Jon trailed off.

"With how _good_ it is, I know!"

"Man, don't even get me started on the new Decemberists."

"Dude!" Brendon exclaimed and launched into another excited ramble where they ended up talking about Xbox.

They didn't talk about the snow globe. Neither of them mentioned it, but it was sitting there on Jon's coffee table, serving as a bridge. A silent sentiment and reminder of a melody that he could hear again, and now that it was in his ears, he'd hold onto it. Shake it and stir it up and keep it gleaming and sparkling and there. The snow might drift down, but it’d always be there. Waiting.


	2. The Time Where Brendon Used a Snow Globe as an Excuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or the time Brendon bought Jon a snow globe in Russian, hand delivered it and got perfectly laid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [s0ckpupp3t](s0ckpupp3t.ao3.org). She's my hero. This is all [onceuponamoon](onceuponamoon.ao3.org)'s fault and present.

They had been stuck in this godforsaken Russian airport for 8 hours, which was already six longer than they were supposed to be, and probably six less than they were going to be. Brendon was officially over this airport. Actually, he might be over airports in general. Airports were the new purgatory, complete with shitty elevator music and everything. 

Brendon took a deep breath and sighed as deeply as he could manage. He started to speak. 

“If you say how bored you are again, I’m going to let Dallon kill you,” Spencer warned. His eyes were closed and he was listening to his ipod. It was like he had a sense about these things. He probably did.

“Affirmative,” Dallon agreed or at least Brendon was pretty sure what he said. His head was burrowed in his jacket and his voice was muffled and he’d somehow yet to sound cranky. It must be a dad thing. They were really lucky to have Dallon and get to keep him. 

Shit, now Brendon was feeling all morose. He sighed again. “Maybe I’ll go walk around or something.”

“Your funeral,” Zach added, not even looking up from his magazine. 

“Ah, man, I love you too,” Brendon said, saccharine sweet, hopping up. Maybe he needed a magazine, or crackers, or that one toffee that started with a ‘t’. Tokay? Toffeemay? Maybe all of those. He wasn’t thinking about how he needed not to be stuck in this airport. He wasn’t thinking about how the fluorescent lighting seemed to be hammering itself into his eyes. He wasn’t thinking about the incessant announcements he couldn’t understand. He wasn’t thinking about how even the dirt here was industrial grey, and seemed to be seeping into his pores.

He wandered toward the little shops. They mostly looked like your run of mill shops in an airport, except somehow Russian: little shop for last minute souvenirs, a bar, a McDonald’s, a magazine stand, a Body Shop knock-off store. He debated the merits of french fries that he would know exactly what they’d taste like, but a glimmer caught his eye from the little souvenir shop and he wandered over. 

Skimming his fingers over various sundries, shot glasses, keychains and magnets, he stopped in the back of the store and just stared, arms crossed over his chest. There were a helluva lot of snow globes tucked into this little corner. Glass domes with tiny plastic and ceramic models of the Kremlin, Seven Sisters, that one funny tilty skyscraper thing, St. Basil’s Cathedral, and, for some reason, the Eiffel Tower. He stared at them, willing one of them to tell him that it needed to go home and live with Jon Walker. 

“Is this part of Operation Snow Globe?” Spence asked, sliding up next to him, after a few minutes. It might have been a few minutes. Brendon might have zoned out looking at the last flakes of glitter falling through the water.

“That’s making it out to be more than it actually is,” Brendon objected. “Which one should I get?”

Spencer shrugged, “You made a good enough choice before. You know. With the oranges.” He studied Brendon for a minute. Brendon didn’t meet his eyes, choosing to stare at the globes harder. He was actually kind of narrowing it down. 

“What?” Brendon asked, when he thought Spencer was done thinking. He’d limited it down to three. 

“I thought you two were talking again,” Spencer said quietly. 

“We are,” Brendon said. “It’s just. Well, sometimes, you gotta buy a dude a snow globe.”

“Right,” Spencer said. He was smirking. Brendon could see it out the corner of his eye. 

“Yep,” Brendon said, reaching up and taking his selection and dragging Spencer to the checkout. “C’mon, Spence. We’re gonna need french fries.”

****

“Guess how happy I am to see New York?” Brendon asked, not pausing for a hello. “I don’t even care that I won’t be setting foot in the city. Not even two shits. I don’t even care that I will be stuck in this airport for two more hours. You know why, Johnny Walker?”

“Because it’s not a Russian airport?” Jon hedged a guess. He still kept track of  
Twitter, thanks very much. 

“Exactly!” Brendon exclaimed. “I’ve even been able to take advantage of the shower in the executive lounge. I’ve had a proper Starbucks coffee and I’m enjoying a complimentary gin and tonic with two limes _and_ ” Brendon took a breath and paused.

“And?” Jon prompted.

“And I got you a present,” Brendon said, his voice had gone quieter at that. Something softer in it. Almost hesitant. 

“Really?” Jon asked. He couldn’t help but smile, pleased. He tried not to dwell too hard on that feeling. Hell, for all he knew, Brendon had gotten him a pair of cheeky socks, but still. Cheeky socks from Russia would be cool. Not as cool as socks from Japan, but still totally neat. He didn’t have any socks from Russia, after all. 

“Yeah, really,” Brendon answered. Jon could hear his smile. “Oh shit, my battery’s dying. Catch ya later.”

“Later man,” Jon pocketed his phone, smiled a little and shook his head and then went back to trying to air out his apartment. That was seriously the last time Sisky and his pot were allowed anywhere near his place.

****

Brendon shifted his bag more firmly on his shoulder and shifted the wrapped package under his arm. He cleared his throat and felt a little bit like a tool as he lifted his hand and knocked on the door. He heard movement on the other side of the wood and his stomach felt like it had a million butterflies in it. He was _really_ hoping he hadn’t misjudged this.

When Jon opened the door, he looked totally surprised, face soon breaking out into a smile.

“Hi,” he said, sounding impossibly fond. Even his beard looked fond. He’d missed Jon’s beard. 

“Hi,” Brendon said, matching the smile, then biting his lip. He was suddenly thinking about all of the places Jon’s beard had been, which gave the inside of his thigh a phantom itch.

“Come in,” Jon urged, taking Brendon’s bag. Brendon followed him in, followed Jon as he sat Brendon’s bag near the trundle bed and into the kitchenette and started to make coffee. "You want coffee, yeah?"

"Yeah," Brendon shuffled his feet a little and tried to be cool about sitting the box on the counter and hopping up on a stool. He probably just looked like a dork. He’d always been really good at looking like a dork. 

Jon leaned against the counter as the room filled with the smell of coffee. He was studying Brendon, something affectionate and quiet tucked into the corner of his eyes. Brendon tried his best not to squirm, to just be patient. 

“So you brought me a present,” Jon said after a little bit. “It doesn’t look like socks.”

“It’s not socks,” Brendon confirmed, then grinned sheepishly. “Did you want socks?”

“Not really,” Jon said, reaching for the box and carefully pulling off the wrapping paper. He made a quiet, surprised sound when he opened the box. “Oh,” he said, grinning from ear to ear as he pulled out a snow globe containing a ballerina wearing a really ridiculous furry, tall hat all while mid-pirouette. He gave it a little shake and set it on the counter. “The hat really makes it.”

“I know, right?” Brendon said, leaning forward on his elbows on the counter.

Jon leaned forward too, edging closer, and Brendon knew what Jon was going to do. He’d been hoping for it. Jon stopped with his face inches from Brendon’s, his brown eyes impossible and warm. Brendon closed the distance. Jon’s lips were a little chapped and dry, but eager. He opened his mouth to let Brendon in, tongue sliding in and slipping against Jon’s, just getting familiar with each other’s tastes again. 

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” Brendon said when they pulled apart, noses bumping.

“I’m sorry we ever stopped,” Jon whispered. 

“We could start again,” Brendon suggested, trying to sound casual and utterly failing.

“If by start again, you mean we should have sex in my bed down the hall right now, then I’m fully on board with that,” Jon said, hopeful. 

Brendon stood up and promptly knocked over the stool he’d been sitting on. He turned to pick it back up, laughing, but Jon’s hands wrapped around him from behind, pushing him unceremoniously into the fridge door. Brendon’s laugh turned to a gasp. There was a fridge magnet under his temple, and he really didn’t care. It might have been a C. Or a Q. Jon’s hand was warm and firm between Brendon’s shoulder blades, and the fingers of his other hand seemed to be pulling up the hem of Brendon’s shirt, looking for skin and finding it. He touched Brendon’s back just above the waistline of his pants, stroking back and forth gently. He was so _quiet_ , and Brendon was breathing hard, and then Jon reached up Brendon’s shirt and spread his fingers out and grabbed Brendon’s back, his thumb and pinky spanning kidney-to-kidney.

“Why am I so hard from you doing that, why did I wear pants this tight, and why aren’t we in your bed which you just mentioned is right down the hall, fuck, your hands are big, please say something, and we could be kissing again anytime,” is what Brendon sort of meant to say. What actually came out of his mouth was, “Hnaaanh.”

Then Jon leaned in, pressed up against Brendon, Brendon pressed back, and Jon’s hands went for Brendon’s fly, and Brendon considered that, in retrospect, “Hnaaanh” was pretty fucking eloquent.

Jon’s left arm wrapped around Brendon’s ribcage, Jon’s right hand got ahold of Brendon’s dick, and Brendon just gasped, “Jon, shit,” and fell back against him. Jon held his ground, rock solid in both stance and what was pushed up against Brendon’s ass, and breathed in his ear, jerking Brendon off slow and steady.

Brendon clung to the fridge door for dear life, at a loss for words, unable to focus on anything besides how perfect Jon’s hands were and what a nice height he was and how long it had been since Jon’s facial hair had tickled Brendon’s neck and wow, Jon was really hard and holding Brendon really tightly and... “I, I don’t want,” Brendon stammered.

Jon stopped immediately, his hands still tight around Brendon everywhere, and Brendon could finally _think_ , “I don’t want to come on your fridge,” he finished, and Jon laughed into his neck, and Brendon got himself turned around somehow, and he would feel weird about having his cock out in Jon’s kitchen except now Jon was sticking his tongue down Brendon’s throat and he didn’t feel weird about anything.

Jon pulled back and grinned, a million-dollar roguish smirk. “What if I want you to?”

“Uh,” Brendon said, feeling distinctly overmatched. Jon was well-rested and hadn’t been stuck in airports and was caffeinated and fed and kind of sane and really, really good-looking. It wasn’t fair. “That’d probably be fine, then,” he managed. He’d agree to whatever Jon said right now.

But Jon just laughed and looked at Brendon like he was some kind of catch, and pulled off their shirts. And then started walking away. Asshole. 

No, wait, he was backing away, pulling off his belt, and looking at Brendon all come-hither, and _that_ wasn’t fair either, and Brendon was just trying not to trip over his own pants as he followed Jon into nudity and the bedroom. And that meant that Brendon’s boxers were in the hallway and that was fine. Somehow Jon had managed to keep his, and this just cemented the unfairness of everything in Brendon’s mind, and he knelt at Jon’s feet and determinedly took the offending garment off with his teeth. Then, since he was there, it just made sense to take Jon’s cock into his mouth, and Jon grunted like he’d been punched but he didn’t mind at all, and Brendon finally felt like things were evening back out. 

He tasted good; he tasted like Jon. And Jon’s fingers slid into his hair and stayed, pushing into Brendon’s scalp, fingernails digging in a little like it was already hard not to come, and it felt so good to make him do that. Brendon swallowed his cock down further, trying not to breathe, letting Jon feel his throat constrict, until he had to back off, eyes pricking. It made him pleasantly lightheaded, and it made Jon make a high-pitched helpless noise, and he did it again, and again, until his nose was up against Jon’s pubes and he could smell Jon’s shower gel from this morning and Jon’s fingers were curling and uncurling in Brendon’s hair, and Brendon knew he could just push him a little harder if he wanted, and Jon would fall apart for him.

He sighed contentedly to himself at the realization, pulling off and settling back on his calves, his fingers tracing circles on Jon’s hip. 

Jon made a shocked, bereft noise at the loss of Brendon’s mouth, and Brendon tried not to grin too hard, letting Jon pull himself back together for a few seconds.

Which Jon did, and then promptly tightened his fists in Brendon’s hair, pulled him up to his feet, and pushed him onto the bed. 

“Shit, Brendon,” Jon said, hands ghosting down Brendon’s thighs. “Fucking hell, look at you.”

“You can do more than look, you know,” Brendon managed. His voice was shaky and his face was flushed, and he could feel it, and Jon made him crazy, and it wasn’t Brendon’s fault. “I bet you even still keep the lube and condoms in the same place.”

“Yeah, I do,” Jon said, chewing a little on his bottom lip, then he smiled, reaching over to the bedside table to pull out the supplies. He dropped the condom on the bed beside Brendon’s hip and uncapped the lube, pooling a little in his hand to warm. He looked at Brendon with hooded eyes, but there was a tightness to his expression.

“What is it?” Brendon asked softly, nudging at Jon’s hip with his foot. 

“Not that it matters, or maybe it does, but,” Jon took a breath, “but is this an old times sake and we just go back to texting and the occasional phone call thing, or what?”

“I don’t want it to be a one-time thing,” Brendon answered, licking his lips. He’d pat himself on the back for being ballsy enough to say it, but he really wanted Jon to do something with that lube. 

Jon beamed at him. “Great,” he said, letting out a relieved breath, and that cat that caught the canary smile slipped back on his face. “Now where was I?”

“The fucking,” Brendon tried his best to waggle his ass. It was a little hard in his current position. “Your fingers. My ass.”

“You are such a dork,” Jon said fondly, moving close and sliding a finger into Brendon, deep and sweet and easy. 

Brendon gasped a little, “You love it.”

“I do,” Jon agreed, “I love it kind of a lot.”

“You are such a sap, Jon Walker,” Brendon said, his heart hurting a little at how much he’d missed this, and moaned when Jon tucked in the second finger with the first and started scissoring. 

“You love it,” Jon echoed.

“Well yeah,” Brendon gasped. “Always.” And he did, and he loved Jon, even for all the stupid shit they’d put each other through.

“Love it enough for three?” Jon asked, using his free hand to slide down and cup Brendon’s balls. 

Brendon made a noise between a moan and a gasp, all very much in the affirmative. 

“What was that?” Jon asked, fucking smirking like a teasing fucker who could just crook his fingers like that. All the time.

“Yes. More,” Brendon whimpered. “Three now. C’mon.”

Jon obligingly tucked in the third and it was a lot, and it had been a long time, and he just wanted. He felt like he had been waiting forever. Brendon moaned and reached down to his dick. 

“Want me to fuck you now, Brendon? You ready for my cock in your ass?” Jon purred, wrapping his fingers around Brendon’s hand and Brendon’s dick, guiding them both, making the pressure so sweet Brendon’s teeth ached.

“Fuck yes, been waiting,” Brendon bucked his hips. “C’mon, Jon. Waiting for fucking ever. _Jesus_.”

Jon leaned down, catching Brendon’s lips with his and kissed him hard. Brendon fumbled for the condom near his thigh as he moaned into the kiss.

“Yeah, okay,” Jon said, voice sounding wrecked as he moved his hand from Brendon’s dick to take the condom and open the packet with his teeth. 

“Nice,” Brendon observed.

“I try,” Jon smirked, easing his fingers out of Brendon’s ass, making him whimper at the loss. Jon didn’t waste any time rolling the condom down his length and squeezing some lube in his hand and slicking up his dick.

“Well,” Brendon started to say something else, but Jon was kissing him again.

“Not that I don’t love listening to you ramble,” Jon said, lining up, tip of his hard dick nudging at Brendon’s hole, “But you are seriously talking too much.” Jon was smiling. There were little beads of sweat at his temples. His cheeks were flushed. He looked beautiful to Brendon, and his smile was dazzling, and Brendon really hoped Jon was going to be fucking him into the mattress soon.

“Shut me up,” Brendon said, biting his lip like it was a taunt.

Jon rolled his hips, sliding halfway in and pumping his hips slowly, making room for himself until Brendon felt like he was being split in two, until Jon was flush with Brendon’s ass. 

“Oh,” Jon half moaned, half gasped in surprise. 

“Mmmmm,” Brendon bit harder at his lower lip, feeling everything at once, trying not to whimper or beg, because he was so full, and it was too much, Jon needed to not move, no, why the fuck wasn’t Jon moving already, Brendon was going to die, and he didn’t say anything, just let himself feel it. 

It was like Jon knew anyway; he slid back out, added more lube and thrust back in, slowly building a rhythm, matching grunt for each of Brendon’s moans. Jon swiveled his hips and his cock hit Brendon just right for him to see stars and lose all train of thought and all speech. Fuck, he’d really missed this.

“Yeah,” Jon said. Maybe Brendon had babbled that. 

“Close,” Brendon whimpered.

“C’mon Brendon,” Jon’s voice cracked on his name as he reached down to jerk Brendon off, his hands sloppy and smearing precome everywhere. Brendon whimpered and came all over Jon’s hand and his stomach, ass clenching.

“Fuck,” Jon gasped, thrusting erratically, abandoning his careful rhythm and thrusting deep until he shuddered, moaning loudly as he came. 

“Yeah,” Brendon managed, still breathless, causing Jon to chuckle against Brendon’s shoulder, his beard tickling Brendon’s chest.

“I haven’t pulled out yet,” Jon countered.

“That’s what she said,” Brendon said, and Jon groaned.

“You didn’t just say that,” Jon said, causing them both to hiss as he pulled out.

“I couldn’t help it,” Brendon said. “It’s a hanging out with Pete side-effect.”

“You are so not kidding,” Jon nodded, tying off the condom and tossing it into the trash. “‘M gonna go get a wash rag and then maybe we can nap or cuddle or something.”

Jon smiled, all lopsided and charming.

“All of that sounds awesome,” Brendon agreed. It really did.


End file.
